The Sopranos: Caliper Story

EPISODE SEVEN (Part Three)

EPISODE SEVEN (Part Three)

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I played with my thumbs nervously instead of eating my breakfast. I stared at the line-ups for the race, ending up chewing my lips instead of my pancakes that I made for myself.

      I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Number three. He was number three.

      3. Jay Dawson

      He was next on the line-up. What if he never shows up and drops us? What’s he been doing? 

      I hear the doorbell ring and I jump off the stool of my kitchen island. I padded towards the front door in my white tank top and extra puffy pink pajama pants.

      As I opened the door, I see no one. My heart began pumping. I look down at the floor and found a bouquet of flowers lying on the ground. But it was no ordinary bouquet. The wrap was made of some kind of white fabric and the flowers were something else.

     They were all a metallic black, and some of them had little touches of fake dew drops made of rhinestones. I was afraid to pick them up. What if this was like with Sal’s arrow? What if an arrow goes into my brain as soon as I bend down to take them?

     I shuddered.

     I quickly picked up the flowers and scoped my surroundings, someone tackles me from behind.

     We fall to the ground and I panic, twisting and turning from the arms that enclosed me. I kicked repeatedly at his stomach. His arms loosen around me and I slide away.

     He had his head down, groaning. But then I recognized the hair and the voice. “Wait, Sal?!” I mutter, breathing heavily.

     I scurried over to him as he lay on his back. “Hi, babe.” He smiles, wheezing. “Wow, you can . . . kick.” He coughs, “I think I need to go back to the hospital!”

     I play punched him in the chest for scaring me and for being adorable. “Don’t do that!” I whine, laying my head on his chest to hug him and we chuckle together.

~~~

Sal was on the sofa, oddly peeling away his jacket as if it was stuck to his skin. “Are you okay?” I ask him, leaning over behind the sofa.

      He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

      And that’s when I saw it. I gasp. His wound wasn’t fully healed. There was a large slit where the metal of the arrow had been and it was wrapped in a thin layer of bandage. As he moved his shoulder, it started to slowly bleed out.

     “You weren’t let out weren’t you?” I ask him, and he looked guilty all of a sudden.

     “I’m fine, nothing’s wrong with me.” He said, 

     “You need to go back to the hospital, Sal.” I tell him. “For all we know, you could get an infection!”

     “Nah, I won’t.” He said smoothly in his New York accent. “Look, I’ll be fine.” He said, patting my hand. “I just couldn’t wait anymore to be with you. And I needed to prove to you that I had nothing to do with the fakes. And I-“

     “I know you have nothing to do with it.” I said, rounding the couch and sitting down next to him. “But your wound is still pretty raw. You need to go back.”

     “I’m not going back.” He pressed, looking deeply into my eyes. His eyes looked like a swimming vortex of all kinds of shades of blue. “I can’t stand knowing I’m not here to protect you.”